Finding Affirmation
by rebyl
Summary: Harvey tells Mike he's proud of him.


This is based on the following prompt from the suitsmeme: _Harvey actually says "I'm proud of you" to Mike one day, figuring the kid has earned a little recognition. He's completely unprepared for Mike to break down and cry when he does (because no one but his Gram has said that to him in years, and he's overwhelmed by emotion when Harvey says it)._

**Warning: This story contains mention of childhood cruelty and embarrassment. Read with caution.**

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><p>It'd been a shitty day so far, and the prospects of it getting any better weren't good.<p>

It had started with a call from the nursing home; his grandma was refusing to take her pills again. He'd promised them he'd stop by after work and talk to her, and they'd encouraged him to. They didn't have to tell him what would happen if he failed, because he still remembered that lecture from the last time this had happened. He'd either convince her to take her meds, or they'd have to _force _her. Just the thought of them forcing her… Mike couldn't stomach it.

So, no matter what else happened today, he had to get to the nursing home. He figured he'd probably go there during his dinner break since the chances of him getting off work before his grandmother's bedtime were slim.

But that was okay because he liked his job, he really did. And he was grateful for the opportunity to be gainfully employed after having wasted so much time screwing up his life. What he'd told Harvey during that first interview had been absolutely true; he'd made some really bad choices, and he'd been wishing for a way out ever since. But until the day he'd met Harvey, he'd never really let himself get beyond the _wishing_.

The fact was, as much as he hated to admit it even in the privacy of his own mind, Mike had given up hope. He'd known he had options, sure. He'd known – intellectually – that he could crawl right out of the hole he'd managed to dig for himself and start being an exemplary citizen again, but what was the point?

When he'd been younger, and his parents had still been around, he'd practically fed off their praise. He'd _had_ to for a while. The kids at school were often cruel to the skinny, mop-headed, freak who not only knew too much, but was interested in _everything_. He still remembered sitting in class being absolutely enthralled by the life cycle of the caterpillar; he'd wanted to know _everything _about metamorphosis, and which creatures went through it and why…

And his classmates had wanted to throw the ball as hard as they could at his midsection to prove he was a "stupid dork" who couldn't catch a ball.

But that was okay. Because the one thing his classmates never understood was that nothing they said or did mattered. Sure, they could try to rub in his face how proud their parents were of all their little league trophies, or the fact that they could "defend themselves instead of running home to mommy" when they were threatened, but it didn't bother Mike because _his _parents were thrilled by his natural curiosity and his ability to remember things.

Okay, the teasing _usually _didn't bother him. But on the occasions it did, he remembered his mother would hug him tight and tell him how proud she was of him, and how smart he was. She'd tell him he was wonderful and special and that the other kids didn't understand because they were too young themselves to recognize it. Then his dad would take him to the library – which, at the time, was his favorite place in the whole world – and let him pick out a couple books on any topic he wanted; his dad never told him the books were too hard or too long.

But then they died, and it'd just been him and Grandma. She'd thought he was wonderful and special, too, but she'd had to go back to work to support them, so he'd had to start going to the library alone.

He remembered one night when he hadn't been able to sleep, he'd gone into his grandma's room and, finding her still awake, he'd asked, "Are you proud of me?"

She'd hugged him and assured him that she was very proud of him, and he'd cried on her shoulder, unable to articulate the jumbled emotions swirling in his stomach. He'd been so relieved that she was proud of him, that he still _had _someone to be proud of him, but he'd also been so sad because as great as Grandma was, she wasn't Mom and Dad. And she never would be.

As he'd gotten older, though, he'd gotten better at going without praise. He'd understood that Grandma was old, and tired, and busy trying to make a living for them while all her friends were retired and taking up hobbies.

Unfortunately, he hadn't stopped _needing_ praise, but he'd learned to _pretend _that he didn't need it. He hadn't stopped noticing that his mind was different than anyone else's, but he'd learned to pretend that he was just like everyone else. Trevor was a big help in that area. If there was something stupid that everyone was doing, he could trust that Trevor would know whether or not they should do it too; he always seemed to know what was cool.

He'd learned that he could joke around about the things he really wanted to hear, because most times it made people say them. It wasn't the same as spontaneous praise, but it would do in a pinch.

_"Trevor, you know I'm the best friend you've ever had. Who else would put up with all your shit?"_

_"Can't deny that, man. You're as good as they come, Mikey."_

So it wasn't the best, as far as reassurances went, but he'd take what he could get. And if no one ever figured out how much he needed to hear it? Even better. He had no desire to go back to being that awkward kid with the massive need for affirmation.

Even though in some dark corner of his mind he refused to acknowledge, Mike wasn't sure if he'd ever _stopped _being that kid.

Mike shook himself out of his thoughts as Gregory walked by, arms full of folders. He'd been waiting for the other associate to leave the file room so he could do his own research in peace. Not that Gregory usually gave him a problem, but after the phone call earlier, and all the internal musing it had set off, Mike just wanted to keep to himself for awhile.

An hour later, he was buried in files, still looking for the precedent he needed for the McMillan lawsuit. He'd already missed lunch, but he didn't want to leave to eat until he had something for Harvey. Otherwise, he'd end up working through his dinner break, and he needed that time to go see Gram.

Two hours after that, he'd found the precedent he needed, as well as two similar cases that would help if the other lawyers tried to claim that the precedent wasn't binding to the current case. A precedent had been all Harvey had asked for, but Mike knew him well enough by now to know that Harvey would want the added insurance if Mike could find it.

The day was starting to look a little better, Mike thought, as he made his way to Harvey's office with the relevant files. It was only three in the afternoon now, so he could probably sneak over to the break room and use the hot water they kept on hand for tea to cook the cup of instant soup he kept in his desk for days like these.

Harvey wasn't in his office, but Donna took the files from him and handed him a stack of briefs for proofing. It was perfect, he thought. He'd already mastered the art of careful noodle-eating, so he was relatively sure he could proof them while eating and still be done before dinner.

He was finished by four-thirty, and approached Donna's desk with a wide smile.

"Who's the best associate you know? Oh yeah, that'd be me." He started to hand the briefs over to her when she held up a hand to stop him without looking up.

"Harvey wants to see you, hotshot. Might as well deliver them in person."

He shrugged, and strutted through the door to Harvey's office. He still had half an hour; Harvey couldn't possibly have _that _much to tell him.

Harvey was on the phone, but he gestured towards the couch, so Mike laid the briefs on Harvey's work table, and sat down.

Finally, Harvey ended his call, and came to take a seat at the opposite end of the couch. "Finished with the proofing?"

Mike pointed to the table. "It's all there."

Harvey nodded, and then there was what felt like an awkward pause, which confused Mike because things usually didn't get awkward with Harvey anymore. Unless Harvey was about to tell him something unpleasant…

Mike racked his brain for any reason he'd be on the receiving end of bad news. The only thing he could think of was yesterday… after they wrapped the Stan Jacobson case, Harvey had gone in to speak with Jessica.

Maybe Jessica had seen through Harvey's lame "Mike just told me he's a virgin" line, and had wanted to know what they'd really been talking about when she'd walked in. Maybe it was Mike's turn to be Stan Jacobson and get fired for lying.

"What's wrong with you?" came Harvey's voice, cutting through his mounting fears.

"Huh?"

"You're sweating, and you're wringing your hands like I'm about to steal your lunch money."

Mike chuckled, but it sounded a little forced even to _his _ears. "Your silent treatment is starting to worry me. Am I fired or something?"

Harvey's eyebrows shot up. "Are you _serious_? Is that always the first thing you think when I want to have a serious talk with you?"

"Um, the day after you tell Jessica I'm a virgin – and I'm not, by the way – to cover for what we were _really _talking about? Yeah. It crosses my mind."

"For your information, the last time I spoke to Jessica, I told her how much you helped on the case against Dreibach Accounting, and she wanted me to tell you that you'd done good work."

"Oh. Okay then." Mike wiped his hands on his knees and made to stand up before a hand came down on his shoulder, stopping him.

"Not so fast."

Mike looked at his watch. It was only four-forty, but it felt like he'd already been sitting there an hour.

"Look, Mike, the work you did to uncover Dreibach's dirty deeds was above and beyond. Yeah, you probably shouldn't have resorted to breaking and entering, but you were right: there was something going on that needed uncovering."

"Ooh, is the great and mighty Harvey Specter admitting that the lowly Mike Ross did something right?"

"You do a lot of things right, Mike. I think it's time I told you that. I'm proud to have you as an associate. In fact, I was thinking that…"

Harvey was still talking, but Mike hadn't heard anything after "I'm proud to have you as an associate." Hearing the words he always secretly hoped to hear was just too overwhelming. Especially coming from the one person he was sure he'd never _ever_hear them from.

And, heart pounding, he couldn't help but go back to everything he'd been thinking just this morning. His parents had been proud of him, his grandma was proud of him, but who else had ever been proud of him? How long had it been since anyone had had any reason to be proud of anything he did?

All the feelings he'd felt that night at his grandma's bedside came rushing back. The sharp relief that he'd finally heard the words he desperately needed, warring with the crushing weight of despair over the fact that he didn't hear them often enough, and probably never _would_ with his parents gone. And then there was that persistent little sliver of self-loathing way in the bottom of his gut that said that if he were _normal_, he wouldn't be so damn needy. If he were _normal_, more people would be proud of him rather than being baffled by him all the time.

Mike was horrified to realize that tears were beginning to well up in his eyes, and his grandma was nowhere in sight, so he did the only thing he could think of: he fled.

He'd just finished rinsing his face in the (thankfully empty) men's room, when Harvey walked in. He stood leaning against the wall near the sinks with his arms crossed, regarding Mike with serious eyes.

"Uh… sorry. I got something –"

"Something in your eye?"

Mike nodded, rubbing his left eye for emphasis. "Yeah. They really need to check the air filters in this building."

Harvey nodded, though from the look on his face, he didn't seem to be buying it.

"I'm very proud of you, Mike."

Mike choked in surprise, and bent over the sink to wet his hands again and wipe them over his eyes. He felt Harvey's hand descend on his shoulder again, stopping him.

"I'm sorry it's taken me this long to realize how much you needed to hear that."

Mike didn't straighten. He braced his hands on either side of the sink, and shook his bowed head as the tears welled up again and overflowed, disappearing into the wetness that was already on his face. He wanted to tell Harvey that he didn't need to hear it. He wanted to be suave and just shrug it off and thank him, but he couldn't make his voice work.

"I _am _proud of you. And it doesn't cost me anything to say it."

Mike felt his face crumpling, and he brought his hands up to cover his eyes. One choking sob slipped out, and the hand that still hadn't left his shoulder gave a quick squeeze.

A few moments, and several deep breaths later, Mike was finally able to speak again. "Okay, enough with the Good Will Hunting."

Harvey scoffed and removed his hand as Mike bent to wash the tears from his face one last time. "I am _not _Robin Williams in this scenario, or in any other."

Mike grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser and scrubbed his face dry. He checked his watch and realized that he needed to get going or he wouldn't get to the nursing home in time to see his grandma.

"Dinnertime, Mike. Come on, I'll even let you pick the place."

"Sorry, I'm not trying to get out of anything, but I've really got to go see my grandma during the dinner break. She hasn't been taking her meds…"

"No problem. We can go there first."

That brought him up short. "What? You want to go see Grandma?"

"Please, I'm the best closer in New York. I bet I can convince Grandma Ross to take her medicine. Then we'll eat, and I promise I won't even say 'I told you so'."

Mike looked in the mirror. His eyes were still a little red, but his face wasn't too puffy; he didn't think his grandma would notice anything wrong. He could hear Harvey in the background, already telling Ray their plans, and asking him to bring the car by. He still couldn't believe that Harvey had not only said the words, but it seemed that he'd really _meant _them.

He straightened his suit jacket, and smoothed out his tie. No, it didn't look like anything was wrong, and for the first time in a long time, he thought that maybe nothing was.


End file.
